


A Birthday Unforgotten

by straylize



Series: Royalty/Retainer AU [4]
Category: Persona 3, Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Birthday, Gen, M/M, Royalty/Retainer AU, pegokita
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 04:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straylize/pseuds/straylize
Summary: [Royalty/Retainer AU]Akira tries every year to forget his birthday—Minato, on the other hand, never lets it slip by.





	A Birthday Unforgotten

He couldn’t really remember the last time he had put any importance on his birthday.

As the most respected retainer of the Arisato family, as one who bore one of the heaviest weights their nation had to offer, there was very little way for Akira Kurusu to put any sort of value on that day. Ten years ago, he had given up that right. When the kingdom nearly fell, when he and Minato were left to fend for themselves and their country, Akira had known something like his birthday was completely trivial. The only things that mattered now were keeping Minato safe, and keeping Arisatia’s land and people safe—and even then, only one of those things truly mattered to Akira. The nation could fall and Akira would have allowed it so long as it meant Minato was safe. His own life had been forfeit from the moment he stepped into his true role as retainer. Papesse 18 was no longer a day to celebrate, it was merely another day to fulfill his duties and try to achieve his goals.

Minato saw things very differently, however.

While Minato had hardly put much weight on his own birthday, similarly, to Akira, he felt that those days needed to hold value to others. And this was especially important for Akira. Though Minato never truly knew what hardships Akira had endured for the sake of his duty, he was well aware that taking on the role of the king’s retainer, an heir of the Kurusu family, meant bearing more than just the weight of the world on his shoulders. With each passing year, Minato could see the distance between them. Gone was the bright eyed, passionate boy who stood against injustice. Gone was a true fire or passion for anything but his job. The Akira Kurusu of their time was ultra-reserved; he hid the blood on his hands and had very little faith in anything  _ but _ Minato himself.

Sometimes, that faith had to be put to good use.

He waited until the later hours of evening; well after the sun had set and most had retired to their own quarters for the evening. Minato had known, after all, that Akira wouldn’t comply any other way. Any request to come to the dining area, to take an evening off, to do  _ anything _ outside of his normal routine would be completely shunned. Part of putting Minato’s faith to good use would be simply knowing that if Minato knocked on Akira’s door, he would answer.

That was precisely what he did.

It was strange to Akira, naturally. There was only about thirty minutes until midnight would strike—and it was rare that anyone required his attention at that hour. That was why his secret investigations and meetings often started so late; though this night, he had simply planned to retire to bed. Duty was calling to him, however.

“Who is it?” His tone was curious, but terse. It was a good way of signaling to those who wished for his attention for trivial matters that it could wait. Minato was undeterred, though.

“It’s me,” was all Minato had to say, tone soft and unassuming. That was all it took for Akira’s own demeanor to change. There was little in the way of hesitation—less than five seconds after Minato spoke, the door swung open with muted fervor.

“My lord, is something—“  _ wrong,  _ is what he began to ask, but it was a question that would die in his throat. Minato was standing in front of him with a small cake on a plate that he seemed to hold with an iron grip. It was immediately how Akira let out a sigh of exasperation. “This again?”

_ This again _ , words spoken with the quietest sense of frustration and disdain. Every year, Akira tried to ignore the existence of his birthday, and every year, Minato showed up at his door with a cake and a smile. It was the ninth year in a row this happened; every year since their parents died, every year since Akira cast aside his sense of self and devoted himself to his duty. Minato did this. Akira was sure this one cake was the only one he even knew how to make; it was a cake native to Velru, coffee flavored and with a name that he never seemed to remember—tiramisu.

“This again,” Minato affirmed. Without giving Akira any space to refuse, he nudged his small frame through the door and past Akira. It only took him moments before he settled on the edge of Akira’s bed, offering little more than an expectant look.

“I tell you every year that I don’t need you to do this. My lord, it’s really not necessary.”

“The more you tell me that, Akira, the more you prove that it’s totally necessary.”

Akira sighed, further exasperated as Minato offered a muted, but smug smile. It was the same conversation year after the year, and it always had the exact same outcome. Exasperated as he may have been, Akira couldn’t refuse Minato’s offers of kindness. He had never been one to do that even before things began to change; his care for the person most precious to him always seemed to triumph over logic, after all. But this had been furthered over the years by his twisted sense of duty, a knowing that refusing the king’s whims was completely out of the question.

Though for all that Akira sighed, he didn’t really hate it. How could he? Minato had been someone precious to him for as long as he could remember, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t appreciate the kind gestures.  They weren’t necessary, but it was just telling of Minato as a person; maybe not a king, but a person. One of the reasons Akira had saw to it to cast his own identity aside was to preserve these traits. The cost was high, but he had succeeded—so once a year, he could accept the reward of that, no matter how grudgingly he seemed to do so.

Guilt was a hell of a thing.

 

Minato seemed to hold onto the plate with an iron grip, using the fork in his other hand to cut into it.

“This… is hardly appropriate. I’m capable of feeding myself.”

“Just because you’re capable doesn’t mean you will,” Minato wasted no time at all calling Akira out on what he knew to be true. Regardless of how hungry he may have been, or how much he may have wanted the cake flavored to his liking, Akira would take little more than one or two bites on his own while citing his dislike of sweets and trying to maintain a decent diet to keep in shape.

If Minato held the fork, he held the power. Maybe it was a bit of an abuse of trust in a sense; Minato was well aware that Akira was far more obedient to his whims than he ever wanted, after all. But he also knew Akira better than anyone else, and enough to know that he never allowed himself any pleasures or joys unless they were thrust upon him by his beloved king. So if this is what he needed to do in order to give Akira something resembling a decent birthday in its final minutes? Then so be it.

“You’ll take two bites and then shoo me away. Not this year.”

Akira’s frown deepened a little, but as a forkful of cake edged toward him, he opened his mouth.

Of course, it was delicious. Delicious at it ever was, despite Akira’s protests, and despite the fact that he held back any visible reaction. After the first forkful came a second, and then a third. Akira took each bite in silence, until Minato resolved to break the silence with words that were all too telling of his feelings.

“You’ve gotten thin,” He spoke quietly, his eyes trained away from Akira’s face. He kept his gaze downward, which meant that it focused on his thighs, a place that made it very easy to tell just how much weight he had lost. “I know you want to keep in shape… but you don’t eat enough. Or sleep enough. Akira…”

He knew before he finished his statement that Akira wouldn’t listen to him. He would insist that he ate enough to get by, that he rested enough to function. That he had too much to do to worry about the rest. But Minato worried in silence. He could remember Akira’s healthy appetite; he could remember when they both weighed a little more than they needed to because they made a tent out of blankets and snacked on leftover sweets the chef brought them. He could remember when Akira would get scolded by his father for being late because he overslept. He could remember so many things that once defined Akira that had slipped away. The man in front of him what a gaunt, ghost of what Minato remembered.

So for just one night, he needed to spoil that.

He offered another forkful and idly mentioned those times when they were kids—birthdays of the past, their small acts of rebellion, moments they could reminisce. Akira smiled softly in response. He laughed a little, he offered up memories of the aftermath of those small acts of rebellion. For just thirty minutes, they could put aside their roles. For just thirty minutes… Minato could sense that normalcy he craved from Akira.

The last bite of cake was consumed just before the stroke of midnight.  The conversation faded into a small, comfortable silence and Akira stood, ready to see Minato to the door. But rather than just step in front of Akira as he often did, Minato stopped next to him. For just a brief moment, he took Akira’s hand in his, threading their fingers together.

_ A stolen moment. _

“Happy birthday, Akira.”

In that moment, Akira seemed to freeze in place. His heart pounded in his chest; he desperately wanted to bottle this moment. Any other time, he’d have pushed the feeling aside. He would have said that it wasn’t appropriate. He would have told Minato it was best to go back to his room and forget the night.

But maybe this one time, this brief moment, with only thirty seconds to midnight, he could accept it. Maybe for this moment, he could let it go and things could be the way he and Minato so desperately wished to recapture.

“Thank you… Minato.”

Minato’s heart raced too; his touch lingered for a moment longer, but at the sound of the clock tower’s midnight chime—they both knew they had duty to return to. Akira’s birthday  was over, and it would be back to burning the candle at both ends and waiting another 364 days to steal another moment.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Just a little story to tell a tale in celebration of Akira's birthday in this AU (Papesse 18—Februrary 18)!


End file.
